


Meat Cute

by OhNoHello



Series: The Loser Series [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Gore, M/M, Meet-Cute, Murder Mystery, Urban Fantasy, disaster bisexual, more tags as I go I guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24040351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: Back to work fresh off a nervous breakdown, Agent David Whitetree is thrown head first into yet another weird case. Human bodies exploding, covered in strange looking worms and stranger looking sigils. And the weird little man in the middle of it all.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: The Loser Series [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1734190
Comments: 25
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soooooo. . . 
> 
> This is a bit of a pinky toe in the pool for me. Kinda sticking it out there. Self indulgent posting my original work haha nervous laughter. . . 
> 
> okay but I really like this one and I want to write my way through it. If you follow me on my tumblr/twitter you may have seen these characters. I like drawing them. . . I just like them :) 
> 
> And big warning: its a slooooooow burn. I mean. . . REALLY SLOW. SLOWER THAN MOST I'VE WRITTEN. When I say meet cute, I mean meet cute. Thats whats in this story, they meet, its cute. Heads up, spoilers, theres no smorching in this one. Just a lot of. . . guts and murder. That M rating is for gore. 
> 
> And honestly, I'm not expecting most folks to read this. Kind of a shoot myself in the foot before I give it a chance, but I wrote this for me, I'm posting it for me, and I'm gonna reread it for me. And anyone else who reads it, I love you. You give me life. 
> 
> Anyways. . . uh. . . here's book 1 of the Loser series: Meat Cute.

Home office had replaced the coffee machine. It was one of those single serving affairs, the kind where you put a pod into the feeder, press a button, some warm water flushes through a cup and there it is. A single cup of mediocre coffee. 

First day back on the job and David didn’t know where to start. 

“Don't freeze up yet,” Joanie said, wandering into the cramped office kitchen. “Wait until we’re out on the field. I’ll get you some dramatic background music when you can’t pull the trigger.” 

She had her own mug of coffee in hand, half empty. It told David that she'd been there maybe 15 minutes and probably seen David bee line to the break room. 

“Good morning to you too,” David said. “I'll have you know, I’m good to shoot.” 

“So what? You just admiring the view?” 

“Just.” David pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tell me how to work this thing?” 

Joanie looked from him, to the coffee machine, then back. 

“Oh that's right,” she said. “You live in the stone ages. You still carrying around the same blackberry from 2005?” 

“I have a smartphone.” 

“Yeah yeah. That's right.” Joanie snapped her fingers by her ear, conjuring the memory up with musical repetition. “Diane forced you to–”

Joanie stopped and met David’s eyes, the smile slowly fading from her face. David sighed and cleared his throat, uncomfortably. Joanie did the same at the exact same time. She took the mug from his hand. 

“That cabinet there,” she said, pointing. “Those boxes are the Magic Mountain pouches. They put the better flavors higher up, to keep them away from us vertically challenged.”

“Do you need me to get you one?” David asked her.

“Yuk it up beanstalk.” 

Joanie nudged him in the side, took his boring plain coffee flavored coffee packet, and guided him through the process. The machine wasn't as straight forward as it ought to have been and Joanie's instructions were rambling. A slot opened and closed with a frightening grinding of gears and the actual brewing of coffee sounded more like a lift off followed by a wet fart. 

David stood next to his partner and listened to the death trap. 

Joanie crossed her arms over her chest and drummed her fingers. She looked up at David out of the corner of her eye. He didn’t return it. She drummed her fingers again. 

"So," she said. 

David closed his eyes. It had been a full month since he'd last seen Joanie, it was to be expected that she'd have questions. Especially with the way she had last seen him.

"Adams retired," she said. 

David sucked in a long heavy breath and looked to his partner. She gave him a wan smile. He silently thanked her for not prying and could've sworn she heard it.

"Really?" he said. The coffee sputtered as the brew came to an end. "Think it'll stick this time?" 

"Pfft." Joanie rolled her eyes and drummed her fingers again. "Like they'll let him back in through the front door." 

"He'll climb in through the window." David sipped his coffee. It was too hot and burnt. David didn’t see why the upgrade was needed. "Anything else I missed." 

"Um buh buh buh." Joanie tapped her fingers on her mug and lead the walk from the kitchen. "New girl at the front desk. Think she's a transfer. Appel bought a plant." 

"Good for him," David said.

"I got a boyfriend." 

"Congratulations." 

"We broke up." 

"Sorry to hear that." 

"He was too clingy. Kept asking me why I didn't have free time." 

David grunted. 

His desk was almost as he had left it. Spartan, bare, devoid of any decoration. The small picture that had sat in the corner was gone. The fake miniature palm tree was still there. His monitor was moved to the other side. David sighed and let his pack practically slide from his shoulder to a discreet hook fixed in the cubicle frame.

“Yeah sorry about the desk, “Joanie said. “Some intern or something was camped out here over the summer.” 

“We have interns?” David got to work moving everything back where it was supposed to be. 

“Archives does. Apparently archivists can’t do archival work in the fucking archives.” Joanie plopped down in the desk across from David. It had a small army of rubber ducks, a single picture of her and her brother pinned to a wall, and a matching palm, amid a towering mess of papers and reference books. “Yours turned into a hotel. Hey, I bought you a welcome back cactus." 

David looked up from underneath his desk at the miserable thing. It looked deflated. He turned his scowl to his partner. 

"I bought _me_ a welcome back cactus," she muttered and put it back down. 

David pried the HDMI cable up from under the desk to plug into his docking station, already thinking about the mountain of emails he had to answer, and found a blank space where his laptop was supposed to be. David popped his head over the divider and fixed his partner with a flat stare. 

“Where's my computer?” he asked. 

Joanie hummed an _‘iono’_ into her mug and shrugged. David crawled into his chair. He ran a hand through his hair and took another long pull of coffee, the burn not bothering him this time. 

"Good start so far," he muttered. 

"Hey, it's been less than an hour, bumps are normal, just gotta find a new routine," Joanie said. 

Easy for her to say, she was already booting up her laptop. 

"I liked my old routine," David grumbled. "And my computer." 

"Tough titties." Joanie smiled over the divider and met his misery. She rolled her eyes, downed the last of her coffee, and jumped to her feet. "Alright. Let's go on a scavenger hunt.” 

“Mills! Whitetree!” 

The first truly familiar element soothed David as Regional Director Appel marched from his office to Joanie and David’s little island, his heavy footfalls muted by the soft padding of the carpet. The sight of his boss was a surprisingly stark relief, especially since the last time David had seen the director, he was sternly recommending time off. In a way that was not a recommendation. Back to business without so much as a 'how do you do' was exactly what David didn't know he needed. 

Director Appel did the same little three trot down the stairs and quick stride as he walked past, just as he would on any other day.

“With me,” he said in the drive by and headed straight for the conference room on the far side of the office. 

Joanie looked at her watch. 

“Not even seven in the morning,” she said, brows raised. “Welcome back Weird Shit Whitetree." 

David rolled his eyes and took one last sip of coffee. He had long since stopped fighting off that particular nickname not a year into his service at the bureau. It was different from the name he was called back on the force, different from the one from the academy, from school, from childhood, but they all meant the same thing. David just learned to stop fighting it. Because it was true. 

The conference room lights were the same nauseating shade of too bright and the air conditioning in that room was cranked too high. Simon Conwell was already seated, leaning back in the high backed chair, but he was at attention when Appel marched in. The chair thunked back into place as Simon sat up and rearranged the folders in front of him. He passed one to Appel, the next to David. 

“Good morning Agent Whitetree,” he said with a smile. "How was your. . . How was vacation?"

“Very well, thank you Simon.” David was already flipping the file open. “How are you doing?” 

“Oh great,” Simon said. He paused and shook his head. “Not great, but you know good. Its monday. How are you?” 

“Jesus Simon, he’s a person.” Joanie took her own file from the intelligence agent. “Just talk normal.” 

“I am normal talking.”

“You aren’t,” David said, finding a seat without looking up and hooking his ankle to pull it free from the table. He plopped down. “This is from this morning.” 

“Getting right into it,” Joanie said. 

“Thin file,” David observed. He looked up to Appel. “This isn't serial.” 

"Brand new," Director Appel said, taking his own seat. "Fresh, just for you." 

The thin report had been hastily written, having come in less than an hour ago. The description of the body that had been found was vague at best. David always hoped that details had been over exaggerated, but his pragmatic nature told him to know better. 

Appel skipped any formalities.

"The call came in around 4:30 this morning when the victim's body was found by night security performing their rounds," Appel said. "The victim is Roland Nordiff, a floor manager at Lucky Farms Meat Co. over in Clinton. He was found on the floor, under one of the conveyors. TOD is roughly around 8 pm due to lividity, which according to the morning shift, is roughly when the line is shut down for the day." 

"This says body was found on the floor," Joanie said. "Are you telling me that–"

The door to the conference room opened quietly and in stepped a woman David had never met before. Her hair was up in a tight neat bun and her pantsuit fit in a way that told David it was custom tailored. She carried a legal notepad and gently folded it across her body, fully aware that she had everyone's attention. She smiled, quiet and polite, and nodded to the room. 

"Pretend I'm not here," she said softly. 

Appel stared at the new stranger for a long moment before looking back to his agents. He nodded at Joanie. 

"That. . .," Joanie said slowly, her eyes sliding from the stranger to her boss. "No one saw the body until this morning?" 

"Can't work overtime if the line is down," David offered. "The scene may be in a blindspot. What's this mean by 'evisceration-like wounds'?" 

"Weird Shit Whitetree," Joanie whispered. 

David glanced to the stranger who jot something down in her notepad. 

"There were uh," Simon began tapping at his laptop. "There wasn't clearance to email the crime scene photos, but the officer who made the call seemed pretty shaken." 

"That's not official," Appel said, pointedly not looking to the woman in the corner, still scribbling on her pad. "And the only reason we got the call was proximity. We're the closest to the scene and the local authorities need our resources. Now I need you on the road, they can only hold off the scene for so long." 

"Yes sir." David was on his feet and Joanie was quick to follow. He took a step for the door before doubling back. "Oh hey Simon." 

"Yeah?" 

"Could you figure out where my computer went to?" 

"It's not at your desk?" 

David shook his head and Simon glared into a nondescript corner. 

"Archives," he muttered. 

"Thanks, means a lot." 

David finally spared the unknown woman a sidelong glance as he left the room and she met his gaze. Her mouth curled into a secretive smile and as he left, she turned to Appel. Joanie waited outside the conference room, one hand in her pocket.

"Who do you think that is?" she asked under her breath. 

"Auditor," David said blandly. 

Joanie hummed, her eyes widening.

"Probably shouldn't have sworn." 

"Maybe the authenticity will help." 

She elbowed David in the ribs and he huffed out a half faked _'oof.'_

"C'mon Whitetree," she said. "Just like riding a bike, right?"

"I've never been good at cycling." 

Joanie elbowed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well yup, thats David and I love him and want the best for him. But because I'm writing this, thats not what he gets :3 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How was sabbatical?” she asked without fanfare. 
> 
> At least she waited until they were alone. 
> 
> “Fine,” David said. 
> 
> “Don’t _‘fine’_ me," Joanie said. "You're not a child." 
> 
> “Fine,” he said, a little softer this time. "It was fine." 
> 
> "And therapy?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you thank you to everyone who read this so far!! You have no idea how happy that made. Every hit I got I did a little dance. This is my baby and I love it very much and I'm real glad its getting attention. Thank you so much!!! 
> 
> **CONTENT WARNING**  
>  Graphic descriptions of gore. This is where I earn that M rating.

Joanie drove. Her FBI standard issue black sedan perpetually smelled of new car, despite having owned it for two years now and David could never figure out how she did it. A gentle chill of AC rippled through the vents, even if a bit superfluous. The warmth of spring was right around the corner, but the stink of cold still hung in the air. 

As predicted, the car ride was draped in a painful awkward silence. Joanie didn’t drive with music on and at best David only really listened to the news, but together they drove in silence. It was part of why they had gotten along so well in the beginning. 

It was unbearable on that drive. 

Joanie drummed her fingers on the steering wheel in a discreet wave. 

“How was sabbatical?” she asked without fanfare. 

At least she waited until they were alone. 

“Fine,” David said. 

“Don’t _‘fine’_ me," Joanie said. "You're not a child." 

“Fine,” he said, a little softer this time. "It was fine." 

"And therapy?" 

David tried to ignore the mounting frustration that knotted in his chest. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily. Only the brush of AC and the soft rumble of tires on tarmac was heard in the too quiet car. David looked to Joanie. She returned with a quick glance, then another, not wanting to take her eyes off the road. 

" _Fine_ ," David said in the same tone as the first. 

"David."

"It went fine, Joanie," he said. "I'm cleared for field work aren't I?" 

"That's not what it's for," she said. 

David shook his head and looked out the window, watching the flat expanse of farmland pass by the window. 

"Are you still going?" she asked.

David ignored the frustration as it bloomed over his shoulder, up his neck, behind his eyes. 

"David." 

"Yeah I am." It wasn't entirely a lie. "You don't need to ask." 

This time, Joanie turned her head to look at him. 

"I don't need to. . .? I pulled you out of there," she said, her voice rising. "Diane could've called the cops, but she called _me. I_ was the one who pulled you out. And it was _my_ couch you crashed on. So yeah, I think I'm entitled to worry about you." 

David didn't answer, didn't look. The world passed by. 

"You at least owe me a beer," she muttered. 

David sighed and the tension slumped from his shoulders. Joanie frowned at the road, hands strictly at 10 and 2. 

"Yeah okay," he said. "I'll get you a beer." 

"Damn right," she muttered. 

"And really, I'm fine," he said. "Well. Better. Getting better. You don't need to worry." 

"Still gonna worry." 

David snorted. 

There was still too much untalked about, but too much David didn't want to say. Thankful that Joanie let it drop, David felt obligated to pick the conversation back up. 

"There really weren't any weird cases while I was gone?" he asked. 

"Not a cult or ritual sacrifice in sight," Joanie said. "Just a . . . just your run of the mill scumbags. Murder here, information breech there." 

"Kidnapping," she said quietly. Enough for David to fill in the blanks. 

"They gave me a loaner," she said. 

"A what?" David asked.

"A fake Whitetree. To fill in the void you left behind." 

David shook his head at her dramatics. 

"Agent Larimar or whatever," Joanie said.

"You don't remember their name?" David asked.

"I do, I just don't care," she said. "He didn't have the right specs and I didn't want to waste the time reprogramming him. I have you set up just the way I like." 

"Excuse me?" 

"Listen, David," she said. "I actually left work early because of him. He was at the gym, I had no where to go. That's why I got the boyfriend, as an excuse, you know? But then I had to hide at work from the boyfriend. It was just this cycle of needy men. Latimer was a nightmare! He disturbed the ecosystem." 

"I'm sure he did just fine," David said. 

"I'm not going through that again," she said. "You're not allowed to have another nervous breakdown ever again." 

David fell back into silence. He tried to focus on something, but just ended up giving Joanie a pointed look. She glanced out of the corner of her eye. 

"Joke," she said. 

"Mm," he grunted. 

"Okay, you get one more nervous breakdown." 

At that, David smiled. He had missed Joanie's sense of humor. Morbid and often times out right bad, but her lack of social awareness made it work. She washed over uncomfortable situations by inserting brevity where she could. Often times inappropriately. Often times during their job, about their job. It was how she coped without _'snapping and going postal,'_ as she put it. By the time he'd joined the bureau, David was used to the macabre, desensitized enough that he didn't need to cope. Anything he couldn't process, he tended to simply disregard. 

The mundane problems in his own life proved harder to deal with. 

"Anyways, I'm gonna assume you have a new place, right?" Joanie asked. 

"Mm kind of." 

The outside world was suddenly fascinating again. Joanie pulled off the main road onto a less well maintained road. A pothole holding rain from three days ago rattled the sedan. 

"Where's it at?" she asked. 

"Clinton," David said. 

Joanie paused. She cocked her head to the side. 

"As in, here? Where the scene is?" she asked. 

"Yeah," David said. 

"Ha. Weird," she laughed. "Jesus this is a haul. You're going to do this everyday?" 

"It's temporary." 

There was a moment of dangerous silence and David could practically hear the gears turning in his partner's head. 

"Didn't you grow up in Clinton?" 

"We're here." 

Lucky Farms was an imposing brick building at the end of the long road. The sun was out, making the sparsely filled lot hazy in that early morning detached way. The front of the building was one big dock, two trucks already primed for loading, halted by police activity. One of the drivers sat on his bumper, smoking a cigarette, looking like he'd been awake for days. 

A large white sign ready Lucky Farms in big letters with a faded orange sunburst behind it. The silhouette of a pig sat snugly beneath the friendly words. 

Around the back was a parking lot proper, a basketball hoop with no net was set up in the back next to the dumpster. The cars of overnight employees peppered the empty lot. The day workers were turned around at the front gate. 

Joanie flashed her badge and she was nodded in. 

"Nice deflect," she said, parking the car. 

The engine wasn't off when David stepped out. He didn't wait for Joanie either, already en route away from her. 

"Huh," she said. "That's weird." 

David spared a glance to where Joanie was looking. 

Next to Lucky Farms was an open field, full of overgrown tall grass. Settled in the middle of it was a faded old RV. Recent tire tracks flattened the grass and David could see the tires sinking into the soft Earth. 

He stared at it for only a second before dismissing it and instead simply strode up to the loading dock. A blue waited by the door. 

"You the feds?" she asked. 

David nodded and Joanie walked up the steps behind him. 

"Yup," she said. "Agents Mills and Whitetree." 

"I'll get the detective. Boots and gloves." 

David and Joanie stepped inside to a sterile smelling entranceway and slipped on pale blue booties and pale blue latex gloves. A tired looking middle aged man in his own booties stepped out from behind an electronically locked door. His hair looked like typically it would be neat, but was now a mess. Dark rings smudged his eyes. The look of someone who had been pulled out of bed for this. A badge hung around his neck. 

"FBI?" he asked. 

"Yup," Joanie said again. 

"Detective Maack." He held out his own gloved hand and Joanie shook it, once and with purpose. 

"I'm Mills, this is Whitetree," she said. 

"Thank you for coming. We're gonna need your resources on this one." 

Joanie nodded and raised a single hand towards the door, letting Maack lead the way. He did as such, yawning heavily. 

They walked into a temperature controlled warehouse, a stark difference from the crisp spring warmth outside. They walked past towering racks that blot out the industrial lighting, each filled with plastic wrapped shipping crates. An empty forklift sat in an aisle, waiting for the delayed day to begin. 

In the far corner was a large rolling steel door, opened into a colder room still, partitioned by a vinyl strip curtain. Their breath misted on the air and a rack of available coats to borrow waited just inside the door. Inside was a labyrinth of conveyor belts that twisted in tight curves and ramped up into intersections overhead. Tunneled and craned machines designed for packaging and wrapping previously processed meats were peppered in distinctly spaced stations. Certain spots were obviously designed for a human to be, filling in the intuitive gaps machines hadn't yet achieved. 

As predicted, Maack lead them to the far corner. They could see the scene of the crime long before the body, forensic investigators working through the unseen mess. David examined the ceiling, checking the corners where discreet domed cameras were placed. It was a blind spot. 

Joanie whistled. 

"That," she said. "Is not an evisceration." 

Roland Nordiff had been middle aged, the top of his head spiraled with thinning grey hairs that threatened to disappear altogether. His fingers were clubbed and callused. A wedding band was fixed too tight on his ring finger. He wore slacks, brown dress shoes, and what David assumed had been a Lucky Farms polo. A down coat had been shucked from his body and thrown under the conveyor. 

That was all that looked remotely like a person. 

Everything else was a mess of blood and gore. 

His most prominent feature was his ribcage. It jut out of his body, splayed wide and inviting, like deranged organ pipes. His skin had been ripped open, like a broken tomato, fat and flesh and muscle torn in ragged pieces. Everything that should have been inside was out, some far from the home that was Roland's body. Unidentifiable masses sprinkled on the floor like confetti, each opened with the same jagged tears. 

"Yeah," Maack said, sounding more tired. "That was the closest we could get when putting in the request." 

"It looks like an explosion," Joanie said, splaying her fingers in a light puff. "From the inside out." 

"That's our working theory," Maack said. "But there's no shrapnel." 

He pointed to the walls, the safety signs, even the conveyor. For the mess around Roland Nordiff, the disaster area was fairly short. 

"It's like his body just. . ." 

"Threw up." David crouched down next to the victim, careful to not step in any of the gore. 

His eyes darted over the open cavern. So much had been removed that he could see the deep muscle that made up Roland's back. David's sharp focus quickly took in details. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a penlight. Using the tip, he reached into the body, and pulled out what seemed to be a long thin worm. 

It dangled limply, it's body still and, if David had to guess, dead. It was unlike any worm David had ever seen. It was colored a deep shade of maroon and it took a moment before he realized it wasn't stained from Roland's body. But the uncanny detail of that particular bug was it's segmentations. They weren't rings down its body. They were parallel striations. 

He slowly pivoted on the ball of his foot and looked to his partner. 

"A little early for larvae," Joanie said. 

"Does the plant have an infestation?" David asked Maack. 

"Not that they know of," he said. "We got a couple of those fuckers in bags. Oh shit, I mean–" 

"Don't worry, it's okay," Joanie said. She jerked her head in David's direction. "He's the sensitive one." 

Without acknowledging that, David turned back to the body and gently placed the worm back where he found it. He scanned from the opened abdomen to the detritus scattered about. 

David pointed to a distinct smear with his penlight. 

"The body was dragged," he said. 

"Yeah, we thought it might be an animal attack," Maack said, crouching down next to David. "But there's nothing on the video feed." 

"Nothing?" Joanie asked. 

"No one came in, no one came out," Maack said. "Just the guard doing his rounds." 

"And you think a person did this?" Joanie asked. 

Maack sighed heavily and motioned for one of the forensic investigators to come over. He silently pointed to Roland's body, waving his finger back and forth, and the investigator gently pulled at one of the arms, lifting the body off the floor, carefully revealing what was underneath. 

Tiny holes peppered the body's back, piercing through the polo. Blood had seeped out and smeared over the floor, spread by the glut of worms that had burrowed their way out and promptly died under Roland's dead weight. 

But that wasn't the interesting part. 

There were lines. Etched into the floor, into Roland's skin, were deliberate, distinct lines and curves. Fractal shapes that were just clean and symmetrical enough to denote a human hand. 

Weirder still, the design was familiar to David, but he couldn't quite place where.

The tech gently rested the body back to the ground. 

"Well," Joanie said, standing back upright, hands in her pockets. "That's something." 

"We'll give you our scene photos and samples," Maack said. "And anything our ME might find." 

Joanie shook her head. 

"Just send the vic to our home office, we'll take care of it," she said. "We should also consider a biological component, what with the. . . worms." 

David closed his eyes and sighed heavily, before opening them again. 

"We'll keep the CDC informed," he muttered. 

He could feel Joanie's stare. 

"Hey," she said to Maack. "Is that RV one of your guys?" 

Maack groaned. 

"No," he said. "I can't get him to move. He's just barely off the property and keeps pointing that out to us. And he's not suspected of anything other than parking _right there_. No evidence that he even approached the building. Little prick sounds like a fucking lawyer." 

He muttered that last part with no small amount of disdain. Joanie cleared her throat. 

"Well," she said in her _'get shit done'_ voice. "Let me go talk to him." 

Joanie marched off and Detective Maack followed behind her. David remained by the remains, taking in what details he could. He stared at the end of grooves in the concrete floor, poking out from underneath the body. It gnawed at his mind, the familiarity of it. Where had he seen it before? 

He turned to look at the discarded jacket. 

"Has this been moved?" he asked one of the techs and they only shook their head. 

David stared at the jacket. Roland could have removed it himself or someone may have forcibly relieved him of it. David didn't think the sigil was precarved. The way the dried blood curled around the grooves, those had been etched posthumously. But wouldn't someone have noticed an attacker digging into solid concrete? Even after hours?

And what were those symbols?

The questions mounted, like pouring out puzzle pieces from a box. 

Eventually, David would put it all together, until he saw the picture on top. 

He sighed and rested his arm across his knee, his eyes scanning idly away from the scene. It really was remarkable how pristine the rest of the assembly line was just mere feet away. Tools, packing tape, scanners had all been returned to their correct places. The floor proper was scrubbed and anesthetized long before Roland's ultimate demise. Just pass the corpse on the floor, everything was as it should be. 

Between the orange of the Lucky Farms logo and the brightly color coded assembly system, David almost missed it. 

Another smear. A swath of red, no bigger than an inch, painted on the corner of a blue crate, close to the ground. 

It could have been a directional sticker or scuffed paint. 

Or it could have been more of Roland's remains.

David carefully walked over to the smear, the noise and activity behind him fading to a soft buzz. He approached, his focus singularly on that smudge. The anomaly was completely surrounded by cleanliness. No footprints, no signs of struggle, not even a spatter. 

Just a caked on smudge. 

David crouched to get a better look at the blood. Because it was blood. Just not Roland's. It smeared in just the exact perfect way when a small insect was swatted and plastered against the surface it died upon. 

The limp corpse of another worm lay mangled and squashed between the two crates. 

And another. 

Behind the line of crates, nestled into the brick wall, was a blocked grate. Another worm dangled from it's lip. David's brow furrowed. He pushed the lightweight empty crates wider, light flooding between them, and slid as much as he could into the space. He clicked on his penlight and peered into the grate. 

The smattering of worms wasn't a surprise. But the lines and curves dragged into the galvanized steel were. 

More questions were raised, but two puzzle pieces clicked together. 

David remembered where he had seen those shapes before. 

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again thank y'all so much. You have no idea what this means to me! :)
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His phone vibrated as a call came in. The screen read _Diane_ . 
> 
> And just like that, the stress rushed back. 
> 
> David hesitated, his hand over the phone. It vibrated a second time and danced over the desk. David made up lies. He told himself his phone was on silent, that he was in the bathroom, that the battery died. There was no way he could have answered the call because of all those things. He told himself those things so that the lie felt true when David relayed them to her later. 
> 
> He was bad at excuses. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno what to say here haha 
> 
> I was super excited as I wrote this chapter and rereading over it I realize just how much I dumped into it. I think thats enough set up for now, lets get into the story proper.
> 
> (WHY WAS THIS SO HARD TO FORMAT AO3!?)

It had been midday when David and Joanie left Lucky Farms and late afternoon by the time evidence was processed and triaged. It was a normal person's quitting hour by the time David got back to his desk and saw that his laptop was still MIA. Simon was also missing, a normal person who had left at a normal time.

Not that it mattered, David wouldn’t be needing his laptop. He was going to records. 

Elizabeth, the records specialist, was right where David had last seen her. She called him Dave and he inisited, once again, that she call him David. She insisted, once again, that he call her Liz, and asked him where he'd been. David danced around that conversation with vague, grunted answers as they walked to the David spaced shape that waited for him within the records cage. 

Then he asked Elizabeth for every file on the murder of Agatha Finch. 

Elizabeth gave David access to the files he would need, scans of hard copies, and any related public reports. She even gave him their loaner laptop, which David suspected may have been his. Elizabeth let him know that technically the cage would be locked for the night, so if he could lock up when he left, she'd appreciate it and that it was good to see him again. David said it was good to see her too. 

Then he was left alone. 

The file on Agatha Finch’s death was barely a file. It was as flimsy and thin as Roland Nordiff’s, maybe even less so. Some portions had been redacted, but there wasn’t much to redact. David opened to one of the few pages and began with the reporting agents and officers. The familiar pull of his usual routine settled in and, for a second, the low grade turmoil David had felt all day was finally soothed. 

His phone vibrated as a call came in. The screen read _Diane_. 

And just like that, the stress rushed back. 

David hesitated, his hand over the phone. It vibrated a second time and danced over the desk. David made up lies. He told himself his phone was on silent, that he was in the bathroom, that the battery died. There was no way he could have answered the call because of all those things. He told himself those things so that the lie felt true when David relayed them to her later. 

He was bad at excuses. 

The phone vibrated one more time. His hand still hovered. He'd have to answer. 

"Are you kidding me?" 

David hadn't realized he was holding his breath until he puffed out the air. He flipped the phone over and silently thanked Joanie for a truth. 

She stood at the cage door, hair wet from a shower and pulled back into a small ponytail. A gym bag was slung over her shoulder and she was dressed in black and grey sweats. Her ‘not at work’ uniform.

"I knew you’d be down here," she laughed. "It hasn’t even been 24 hours. What? Was easing back into things too simple?" 

David slung an arm over the back of the chair.

"What about today was simple?" he asked. 

"Did you remember to feed yourself dinner?" she asked.

“I’ll get dinner later,” he said. 

Joanie rolled her eyes.

"Get dinner now,” she said. “I'm headed to the bar. Join me." 

David eyed her, flicking over the nondescript sweatpants and running shoes. Joanie ignored the unasked question and judgement. 

"C'mon," she said. "We can't do anything until everything is processed anyways. What are you even looking up?"

"I'm following a hunch," he said. 

She shook her head. 

"I missed you, Weird Shit," she said.

"Missed you too, Joanie," he said, already turning back. 

"Remember to go home," she sang.

"Yup." 

He waved once and listened to her walk off. The squeak of her shoes echoed down the hall and he listened for the soft ding of the elevator. When he heard nothing, David checked over his shoulder to make sure he was truly alone. He flipped over his phone.

There was a voicemail. 

David didn't want to listen to it. He almost had half a mind to petulantly delete it. If he didn’t hear it, it didn’t happen. It wouldn’t have happened. 

David pressed play. 

" _David_." 

The woman on the other end sighed heavily. 

" _David, you're going to have to answer eventually_." 

Another long pause. David listened to her tongue click. He could practically see the way she leaned her weight on one leg when she was frustrated. Her arms crossed, fingers drumming. 

" _Alright, fine. I have a couple of boxes of your stuff and I really want to stop dropping them off at your mother's. Could you please pick them up? And we've got to split up the furniture. You need to take the dining set. I don't. . . It was your parents. It always seemed like yours_." 

Her voice trailed off. David was holding his breath again.

" _Anyways call me back_." 

The phone clicked and the soft white noise of the other end was cut off. David pulled the phone from his ear and inspected the voicemail data. He ran his thumb on the phone case and stared down his options. The RETURN CALL icon taunted him. He pressed DELETE and returned to Agatha Finch. 

Agatha Finch was found dead roughly two years ago outside her home. There had been multiple reports of a fire, but when authorities arrived on the scene, there was nothing. Only the evidence of an apparent break in and a dead woman on her front lawn. 

The report said she had been stabbed seven times, but later it read eleven. Her throat showed evidence of acidic burning, there were bones lodged in her bowels, and a tox screen showed evidence of arsenic and cocaine. One report placed her in her mid 40s, another in her late 90s. 

Overnight, her body went missing. 

Every picture of the scene was next to useless. They were blurred, skewed at odd angles, like the photographer tripped every time they tried to take a shot. The lawn was brown and barren and an impact crater dented the earth where the body has been found. Photos of the interior showed an elderly decrepit house, dark and decorated to a hoarder's standards. 

No evidence had been collected. No follow up had been conducted. The case was unofficially determined cold within a week. 

To David, the oddest part had been that David had gone out of town. 

It was the first and maybe only time David’s parents had decided on a vacation. His father had finally decided to take time off work (or had the decision made for him) and they all loaded into the station wagon and camped for a glorious month across America. And back home, Agatha Finch died. David, who was constantly bombarded by the weird and the bizarre, missed the weird bizarre murder in his backyard. 

His mother had barely noticed. She used to remark on the weird foreign grocery store making deliveries to the decrepit house again, but that was it. When David said the lady inside, the only neighborhood lady that never showed up to his mother’s canasta games, had died, all his mother said was ' _the poor dear_.'

No one noticed, but David.

The police blotter in the papers mentioned a fire. The obit was a sentence long. _Agatha Finch has passed._

Otherwise there was nothing else. 

David pulled out one of the slanted, blurred photos of the interior of Agatha Finch's home. There weren't many and most of them were of the front hallway and nothing more. He pulled over the desktop magnifying glass and flicked the light on. It was hard to tell, but there was a discolored circle of wood. A rug had been there, protecting it from what little sunlight got into the house, leaving a perfect circle of lightened wood. Carved into the floor were the lines and curves that David recognized. 

David had seen them. When Agatha had lead him into her home, gently holding him by the wrist, saying kind words he couldn’t remember, he had stared down at those crudely etched lines. Something about them had seared into the recesses of his memory. 

David sat back in his chair and puffed out a sigh. He drummed his fingers on the arm chair. 

This connection between Roland Nordiff and Agatha Finch was tentative at best and the sparse file rife with conflicting information and poor procedure didn't have much else to go on. David booted up the loaner laptop and dug a little deeper.

Within their systems, Agatha wasn't a person until her death. She had no driver's license, passport, or government ID. The house that was blocks from David's childhood home didn't have a mortgage and reflected no ownership. 

There was simply no evidence that this woman had lived.

David's stomach growled. It was getting close to 8 and he didn’t have much to show for his efforts. He must've gotten lost in the research. It wouldn't be the first time. The motions wrapped around him like a well worn blanket.

Even so, Joanie was right. There really wasn’t much they could do until they heard back from labs and the flimsy connection that was based in David’s near forgotten memory wasn’t much to go on. He shuffled the paperwork back into its file, when a thought hit him. David searched the property database once more, only this time, he expanded the search beyond residential. 

An A. Finch owned a plot of land just within township limits. A hundred acres of farmland. A hundred acres that had been overgrown and unkempt and unused. 

A hundred acres that had been sold roughly two years ago and was now used as a pig farm. That supplied to Lucky Farms Meat Co. 

There was connection number two. 

David inspected his watch. He weighed his options. He could head home right now and there would be another long, arduous conversation or he could take a quick look at the farm. It was technically on the way. A half hour detour wasn’t that bad. Just long enough that by the time he got back, the house would be asleep and he’d avoid confrontation. 

Again. 

David meant to grab a sandwich from the vending machine on his way out, but forgot. 

\----

The wide beam of his headlights did little to illuminate the dirt path, flanked by tall stalks of yellowed corn, made ghostly and hidden in the blanket of night. The field was illuminated with a soft blue glow of a full moon. David’s car bounced and crunched as he drove. 

As he neared the farm, another call came in. David answered his bluetooth in the car before he could think about it. He winced, bracing himself. 

"Hello?" he asked. 

" _Where are you?_ " 

David breathed a sigh of relief. Not the person he was expecting, but he recognized an oncoming lashing when he heard it. 

"Hi Mom," he said. 

" _Hi,_ " she said. " _Where are you?_ " 

"Work." He clicked on his blinker and its tick-tock filled the empty silence. "I'm working." 

" _It's past bedtime,_ " David's mother continued. " _You should be home by now._ " 

"I'll be home in a bit. I just have to–"

" _Your father would have never stayed out this late._ " 

David had nothing to stay to that. 

" _He always came home on time,_ " she continued. " _He would leave early and be home early. To be with us. I thought once you got back to work, you'd fall into a regular schedule again. Were you always like this before? Is this what happened?_ " 

"No. Mom." 

“ _Are you really at work?_ ” 

“Yes. Mom.”

The large domed shape of the pig house loomed as a monstrous shadow over the field. 

His mother sucked in a deep breath to keep talking. 

"Hey Mom, do you remember Agatha Finch?" he interrupted before she could say anything. 

That shut her up. 

" _Who?_ " she asked. 

"She lived a couple of streets away, in that old house behind the trees? You said it should be condemned?" 

David's mother stayed silent. 

" _I'm not sure what you're talking about,_ " she said. 

David's car rattled with the road and he bounced off his seat. It felt like maybe the ground had jolted, but in actuality, the road had only gotten worse. The headlights bobbed up and down, revealing a darkened tree line and the abrupt end of the corn. It opened out to a clearing. 

Another connection sat parked in the center. 

David stopped the car short. He shut off his head lights and hoped no one heard him coming. 

"Mom I gotta go," he said quietly. 

" _When are you–_ " 

He hung up and turned off the engine. He stared out into the darkness, his eyes adjusting, and taking in the shape of puzzle piece number three. 

The RV that had been at Lucky Farms sat old and faded in front of the pig house. 

David quietly stepped out of his car, clipped his cuffs to his belt, and pulled out his gun. Carefully, David approached the RV. The lights were off and the vehicle was still. The driver's side door into the cab was slightly ajar and the door dinged softly. As David crouched around the front, he peered inside, but everything was silent and still inside the trailer. 

The night was cold. The air smelled heavily of dung and something David couldn't quite place. A sickly plastic smell, like hospitals or the ME's lab. He tried to keep his footfalls as quiet as possible, rolling his steps in the silent night, as he approached the pig house. 

Save for the soft _dinging_ of the RV door, it was silent. There wasn't a single noise. On a pig farm. 

" _Shit_ ," someone hissed. 

David clicked the safety off his gun. Not wasting a second more, he rounded the corner and aimed. 

Hundreds of pigs stood upright in their pens, stock silent and still. The glow of glassy eyes glinted in the dark, staring eerily at David. Not a sound to be heard, no grunts or squeals or breathing. They looked alive, the way wax figures looked alive. 

David kept his focus, disregarding the uncanny pigs in favor of the immediate threat. 

Another exploded human body lay on the ground, it's ribcage stark white in the darkness and broken flesh slopping over the sides. A near identical one for one of Roland Nordiff’s wounds. 

Standing over the body stood the owner of the RV, holding a stick, and poking into the open cavity. 

"Uh. . ." he said. "I can see how this looks bad."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone said they couldn't tell who the love interest was. Hope its obvious now :) 
> 
> Agatha Finch is easily my favorite dead body.
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "On the ground!" David said, gun aimed and carefully stalking forward. 
> 
> "Hey man–" 
> 
> "Drop your weapon and get on the ground!" 
> 
> The owner of the RV had his hands up and looked at the instrument in his grasp. 
> 
> "It's a stick," he said. 
> 
> "Drop it!" David barked. 
> 
> "Okay fine, geez." He flung the stick and it dropped into the open cavity of the corpse. At that, his brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a tight line, and he grumbled. 
> 
> "On your knees," David said, going for his cuffs. 
> 
> "I really don't want to–" 
> 
> "On your knees, hands behind your head! Or I will make you." 
> 
> The RV owner glanced from the body back to David's gun back to the body. He pointed down with both hands. 
> 
> "There are worms," he complained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather much like this chapter bc I finally get to introduce this character. I love him so much. Enjoy <3

Whatever expectations David had, it certainly wasn't that. 

A stocky man stood before him, in ratty jeans and a faded t-shirt with a band David had never heard of. The trace of tattoos hinted at the lip of his sleeves, apparent even in the dark. Most striking of all was his hair, a ruffled mop just down the center of his head and dyed a shocking shade of blue. 

His eyes were wide and he seemed just as surprised to see David as David was to see him. 

David was better at reacting. 

"On the ground!" he said, gun aimed and carefully stalking forward. 

"Hey man–" 

"Drop your weapon and get on the ground!" 

The owner of the RV had his hands up and looked at the instrument in his grasp. 

"It's a stick," he said. 

"Drop it!" David barked. 

"Okay fine, geez." He flung the stick and it dropped into the open cavity of the corpse. At that, his brow furrowed, mouth pressed into a tight line, and he grumbled. 

"On your knees," David said, going for his cuffs. 

"I really don't want to–" 

"On your knees, hands behind your head! Or I will make you." 

The RV owner glanced from the body back to David's gun back to the body. He pointed down with both hands. 

"There are worms," he complained. 

That was enough of an answer for David. He stalked forward, disregarding the dead worms on the ground, and pushed the man by the shoulders. With an angry grunt, the RV owner dropped to his knees one leg at a time. David holstered his gun, wrenched this man’s hands behind his back, and clicked on the cuffs. The man huffed and clicked his tongue against his teeth. 

“Not so tight,” he whined. “I got blood circulation problems.” 

“Maybe next time, don’t be at an active crime scene in the middle of the night,” David said and dragged the man back to his feet. 

Once stumbled onto his feet, the ground beneath the body was revealed. David froze. 

There it was again. Under the dead meat was that hint of lines and curves. The circle that had been etched into the metal of the meat packaging plant was drawn into the dirt. In the dark of night it was difficult to see, but David immediately recognized it. 

“Did you draw this?” he asked and shook the man. 

The RV owner leaned and looked over his shoulder, brows raised. 

“Oh damn, good eye,” he said. 

“Did you draw this?” David asked with more urgency. 

“Naw man I just got here.” 

David scoffed. Keeping one hand on the perp’s bound wrists, David carefully toed the body aside. Like cockroaches hiding from a sudden light, a small scattering of worms scurried out from underneath. 

“Shit!” the RV owner hissed and danced away, half dragging David with him. Not that David needed convincing and he moved with the man. 

“Don’t let them touch you!” the man shouted. “They’ll get under your. . .” 

A soft scuffling cut him off. The RV owner held stock still, his eyes wide and aimed just over David's shoulder. David twisted in place and followed his gaze. 

At the far end of the pig house stood another figure, bathed in shadow and the perfect silhouette of a stumbling human. It swayed drunkenly, unable to keep upright, but still shuffled forward without a sound. Just as eerily silent as the pigs. 

With the next step, the shape of the human wavered. The outline shifting and moving independent of each step.

"Skin," the RV owner said quietly.

“Don’t move,” David ordered under his breath and went for his gun. 

“We should leave,” the RV owner said. 

“Sir,” David said, disregarding anything the RV owner had to say, one hand on his gun, the other held up. “Sir, please back away.” 

The figure took another shambling step forward. 

“Sir!” David ordered. 

“Hey,” the RV owner said again, as if talking to an angered animal. “Maybe we shouldn't–” 

The house erupted in squeals. The cacophony of too many pigs was deafening. At first they all wailed, all still focused on David and the body on the ground, mouths open and aimed directly at him. They screamed, unmoving, open mouthed, in eerie unnatural auditory assault. The kind of moment that felt like an eternity in memory, but in reality was mere seconds. Until they moved. As one, the pigs remembered they were animals and scrambled to escape their enclosures. They rumbled and rubbed against each other, thrashing and tackling. Some fell and were swiftly trampled under hoof, still screaming as they were ground into the dirt. The ground rumbled under the movement and it took David a moment to realize that wasn’t just the pigs.

The earth was shaking. 

David stumbled, bracing himself to stay upright and out of the path of still dancing worms. The man stumbling down the causeway did not falter. The silhouette still shifting and wriggling. As he grew closer, David could see the dancing protrusions, sticking out like anemones. One dropped off from his head and the worm danced in the dirt. 

The RV owner took that opportunity to get away. 

He bolted for the side door faster than David could anticipate. But before David could react, before he could say anything, the doorway was blocked. 

Another woman stood in the door. She was dressed in a jumpsuit and rubber boots, back lit by the headlights from the RV. At first, David thought her hair had gotten loose and was waving around sporadically, but he quickly saw that wasn’t the case. 

“Fuck me!” the RV owner shouted. 

There were worms. A mass, indistinguishable where one wriggling body ended and another began, engulfed her head. Divots undulated within the form where her mouth and eyes were. She opened her mouth wider and more worms came scurrying out to circle around their swarm and into still exposed ears. A choking sound clicked from within and it took David a moment to realize that she was screaming. 

The RV owner skidded in front of her, stumbled, and almost fell. Instead he managed to turn, half running on all fours, and scrambling in the other direction. 

“Hey!” David shouted and grabbed for him. A shirt collar, an arm, anything. But the man spun gracelessly just out of David’s reach and skittered to a halt in front of the other pig farmer. 

“FUCK!” 

This farmer wasn’t as far along as his colleague and that made it all the more worse. To see the opening maw of his mouth with worms dancing on his tongue. To see worms crawling out of the corners of his eyelids, eyes unfocused as he still shambled forward. A few worms managed to puncture through his skin and danced in the moonlight. 

The RV owner spun danced away from this haunting visage just as he had David and did not stop. He broke in a dead sprint towards the open end of the pig house, unable to completely keep his balance between the quake and his hands behind his back. 

“Stop!” David shouted, aiming his gun. 

The man did not stop. He only glanced over his shoulder. 

“Run, fuzz!” was barely heard over the squealing of the pigs. 

The ground tremored again, David lost his shot, and the woman in the doorway fell over. Upon immediate impact, her back ballooned and promptly popped. A cascade of oddly striated worms waterfalled through exploded ribs and over flaps of torn skin, digging into the earth in stilted directionless patterns. 

Seeking their next host. 

Each chaotic moment fell one after another almost too quickly to process, but David made do. He looked from the two bodies on the ground to the still wriggling worms. He watched as they curled in familiar patterns, the shapes of a sigil disappearing underneath the freshly exploded pig farmer’s body. He looked to the other man coming towards him, the one with too many worms in his mouth and eyes that didn’t focus on anything. 

David made the executive decision to go after the one person who could actually form words in this whole situation.

David sprinted to the opening the RV owner had disappeared through. The wormed pig farmer reached out for him. Pigs screamed, trying to climb over their pens, break through the iron. The ground shook again and knocked David to the ground. He heard a thud behind him, but didn’t dare look back to see if there was now a third exploded body on the ground. Instead he pushed on and out the back of the pig house to where the line of corn stalks guarded a neat field.

The RV owner was pillbugged on his back, legs tucked into his chest, wrenching his cuffed wrists up and over his shoes. He moved with a surprising amount of practice, as if he’d done this thousands of times before. The RV owner managed to snap his hands upright in time to make eye contact with David, his eyes wide with surprise, and scrambled to his feet. 

“Stop!”

The ground stopped rumbling to punctuate the authority in David’s command and the click of his gun. The RV owner finally stopped. He held up his cuffed hands, staring at the ground just in front of him, his mouth a thin line. Finally, some gravity of the situation reflected on his expression. 

“Come on,” David said. 

“To where?” the RV owner asked sullenly. 

“You’re coming with me for questioning. Like why you were found over a corpse in the middle of the night.” 

The RV owner rolled his eyes but didn’t fight when David grabbed his arm this time. 

“Don’t you think there are more important things right now?” he asked. “Like the _actual_ dead bodies?” 

David would call them in the second he got back to the car and they would be properly processed, not poked with a stick. But he said nothing. He didn’t owe this man any explanation. David yanked the man in the direction of his car, visible in the clearing, beyond the headlights of the RV. 

“There's more going on here than dead bodies,” the RV owner kept going. “I mean you saw! That's not normal. There's something freaky going on.” 

He stopped dead in his tracks. David glared at him and tightened his grip, but the RV owner only stared at David. His brow furrowed and slowly a small smile formed over his lips. 

“But you already knew that didn’t you,” he said. "Hey. Why are you out here in the middle of the night?” 

Irritation and exhaustion should have dominated David. He’d dealt with talkers before and would take a violent resistance over an annoying one any day, but instead of another demand or demeaning word, David paused. 

David was there because of a series of strange events in his life. He only knew about the shapes and fractals from an event in his childhood. And this strange little man was looking up at him like he knew. Confusion left the RV owner and entered David. A connection hung in the air. That this man might have seen the things David had. 

Before David could truly follow that thought, a third pig farmer emerged from the stalks. He barely had a time to register anything more than the mass of worms before they were all flying at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops :)
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The figure that had once been a man did its best fireworks impression with a dull wet _pop_. A million squirming, wriggling tubular bodies flung themselves through the air and dominated David’s vision. In that split second, David’s world only consisted of worms. The moments standing in the shadow of a tidal wave before it hit. 
> 
> Then all at once, writhing wet flesh smacked David.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I'm posting this story on pure backlog, I forget what I had posted last, whats happening next, and I reread this chapter and was like OH YES THIS CONTRIVED BS 
> 
> I'm running out of back log ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Dunno what else to say. Have some original work <3

The figure that had once been a man did its best fireworks impression with a dull wet _pop_. A million squirming, wriggling tubular bodies flung themselves through the air and dominated David’s vision. In that split second, David’s world only consisted of worms. The moments standing in the shadow of a tidal wave before it hit. 

Then all at once, writhing wet flesh smacked David. 

“Fuck!” someone shouted, but it wasn’t David. 

He was too busy holding his breath. 

He felt movement crawl over his skin. Over his face, under his collar, over his nails. 

Then the digging started. 

Keeping his mouth sealed shut, David clawed at the mass on his face. He tried to push and shove and drag as many worms off him as possible, but he was in a panic. Hands began slapping at the back of his neck, at his shoulders. He could feel something slip down his back. 

“Get them off!” the RV owner shouted. 

David could only agree before he realized the man was talking about his jacket. He was quick to shed the outer layer, frantically ripping at the buttons of his shirt. Something crawled into his ear, at the edge of his nose, at the corner of sealed shut eyes. He whined, slapping at himself, and felt _things_ forcibly dragged out from his skin on the back of his neck. 

“Fuck,” the RV owner swore again. “Fuck fuck fuck.” 

There was movement in front of David. He could hear a shuffling of feet, a shifting of corn stalks. The pigs screamed. The ground shuddered again. A strong hand clamped down on his arm and dragged him aside. 

“Come on! I got something!” 

David stumbled, pulling worms out of his skin. He felt them on his legs, over his feet, and began shedding the rest of his clothes. He could feel something digging under his socks and kicked off his shoes as he ran. He slapped at some half burrowed in his stomach and they squished into wet smears over his skin. The wriggling movement just barely inside him, all penetrating from multiple points, made his flesh ripple, his blood run cold, his hair stand on end. 

He was pushed and was suddenly walking up stairs. He stubbed a toe, stumbled forward, and braced himself on a counter. 

“Ah!” he gagged, finally opening his mouth and slapping at the worms that encircled his mouth. They were immediately flattened and the liquid they left behind tasted the way mortuary preservatives smelled. 

“Here.” 

The RV owner guided David, shoving him into what appeared to be a closet. A small, squat plastic jar was shoved into David’s hands and the top furiously unscrewed off for him. 

“Rub this shit all over you,” the RV owner ordered. “Its gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

David didn’t second guess, didn’t question. He didn’t have the time to. To question would be giving the worms that extra moment to burrow themselves deeper, just another step to being an exploded body on the ground. Either that or the RV owner was handing over the one thing that would kill him. 

It was best not to think. It was better to put an ounce of faith in this man.

He scooped out what felt like bath salts and started to grind the substance into his chest. 

The RV owner wasn’t lying. Instant fire burnt over every open wound David had and that seemed to cover his pores. He barked out a scream, but kept going, frantically trying to cover as much surface as he could. He reached around to slap at his back, down his sides, over his hips, over his feet. He scrubbed into his nail beds, his face, his scalp. It sizzled and burned, creating a frothy residue wherever it touched. Tiny high pitched tea kettles all went off at once around him and even in David’s frantic state he realized the worms were screaming. 

They dropped off his body like barnacles scraped off a ship. They hit the ground in the soft pitter patter of thick rain drops. Bit by bit, David could feel his air on his skin again and the wriggle dissipate, but he didn’t dare stop. He ran on pure furious instinct, killing the worms, saving himself, a flurry of an assembly line. Scoop more from the jar, rub on his body, pull dead worms out, kill any living he could still find. 

Even when he felt no more, David kept going. 

He scrubbed into his skin, feeling fire and the scratch of grainy substance exfoliating. He stomped at the ground at where worms lay, dead or alive. At socks and underwear he hadn't remembered shedding, determined to get the last of them out. 

Finally, the screaming of the worms stopped. 

David breathed heavily, standing in the dark of a tiny little room, and could blearily take stock of his surroundings. 

He was in what could generously be called a bathroom. It was a tightly packed space with little room to breathe let alone move. David could feel a dull ache in his hands and elbows. In his haste, he must have hit the sink that was directly in front of him. Not a foot across from it was the squat structure of a tankless toilet. The shower was no bigger than a coffin. And every inch of the tiny enclosed room was cluttered in _stuff_. 

There were jars similar to the one David held. They might have been stacked in a corner, but were now scattered all over the floor when the RV owner pulled one out. Crystals and charms dangled from the ceiling. Sigils were drawn and etched into the glass of the mirror. A stained bottle of hair dye laid on its side on the shower floor along with a used bar of soap and an opened straight edge razor. Everywhere David looked was more artifacts of belief or messy tools for grooming. 

David shivered, his skin still burning from the whatever he had just rubbed into and the adrenaline of a near death experience. He went for the shower handle and saw his hand was shaking. He flexed his fingers in an effort to make it stop. 

Something was pounding the outside walls. The ground beneath him swayed back and forth. The bottle in the shower rolled against the lip. 

“What is that?” he called out and received no answer. 

He twisted the shower knob, the drain sputtered, groaned, and no water came out. 

“Figures,” David muttered. 

An engine whined, shuddered, then coughed to life. The whole RV jolted and David braced himself against the walls. 

“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey stop!” 

He pounded against the walls but the RV lurched forward. David was thrust back against the sink and his head hit on a dangling crystal. Jars rolled on the ground, accoutrement swayed overhead, and David kept a distinct eye on the razor at his bare feet. He grimaced and picked the thing up and found it was sticky. Still he folded it as best he could and tried to put it away in the mirrored cabinet, but the shelving was filled to bursting with bottles of what did not seem to be medicine. David left the razor on the shower floor. 

The whole RV jolted violently. Jars leapt off the ground, bottles fell from the cabinet, and David braced himself against the sink. Scowling, he poked his head out the bathroom door. 

The RV was a narrow affair, just as cluttered as the bathroom. Books bounced off a table, a spoon slid across the floor, the microwave door swung open. It was dark to clearly see much else and David did need more than a glance to track what fell off countertops. 

What mattered was the RV owner at the wheel, cuffed hands high on the steering wheel. More importantly was the road ahead. Through the yellowed headlights, David could see the ground splitting. 

A crack in the earth raced with the RV, just feet in front, opening the earth beneath its zooming wheels. 

Something was pushing out. 

The RV shuddered, the engine revved, and the ground zoomed faster underneath the headlights. A burst of earth exploded in front of the windshield and the whole RV went up and over a freshly formed, natural speed bump. The RV’s driver swore loudly and David was thrown back into the bathroom. He stood there, clutching the sink, legs braced, and waited for the RV to stop. 

When the rumbling of the outside world died down, the RV’s dismayed engine settled to a crawl until finally it was stopped. It idled, footsteps shuffled outside the bathroom, and a sheepish _one two three_ knock rapped at the door. 

David glared at it. 

“I uh. . .” the RV owner said, muffled from the otherside of the door. “Well here.”

He opened it just a crack and shoved a hand inside, holding what looked to be a sad set of grey sweats. David scowled petulantly, determined not to take them, blaming the offending clothing for the entire situation. He looked from the faded gray to the hand that held them. 

"Towel," David ordered. 

"Just use the one in there." 

David looked around until he found a ratty cloth draped over the shower rail. 

"No," he said flatly. 

The RV owner swore under his breath and rustling could be heard on the other side of the door. Something fell, something clattered, and a moment later the door cracked open. 

“Here,” he said. 

A . . . more clean towel was fisted in the RV owner’s hand, along with what looked to be grey soft cloth. Sweats. It was hard to make out what they said in the dark. David took them. 

“Where are my clothes?” he asked. 

“At the farm,” the RV owner said. “Covered in meat worms.”

“We’re going back,” David said, still pulling the hoodie over his head. 

“Uh, no. We’re not.” 

David growled and roughly shoved one leg into the sweat pants. 

“If you want to go back, you’re welcome to get out and walk the rest of the way,” the RV owner kept going. David was getting real sick of his voice. “But I’d rather not tango with worm zombies and get exploded on. If that's what you're into, I'm not gonna judge.” 

David hated that he had a point and didn’t let it show that he agreed with the perp. 

“My wallet and gun are still there,” he said. “And my car. If someone finds them–” 

“Tell you what, I’ll take you back in the morning,” the RV owner said. “Bet you dollars to donuts these things don’t like sunlight. Shit like this usually don’t.”

Silence hung as David contemplated that.

"And I don't think anyone but worm zombies are going to be out there for the rest of the night," the RV owner said. "I swear to whatever it is you believe in, I'll get you back there come sunrise." 

David stepped out of the dark of the bathroom into the relatively less dark of the main cabin. The RV owner leaned against the short kitchen counter, cuffed hands awkwardly in front of him. He stood up a little straighter at what David could only assume was his ridiculous visage. 

“Oh damn,” he said. “I knew you were a big guy but. . .” 

The hoodie was just shy of being too tight and the neck hugged David just enough to be annoying but not uncomfortable. The sleeves stopped somewhere just before his wrists and the pant legs hugged his calves. He looked down and could just barely make out the faded logo that read ‘University of Buffalo.’ 

“Sorry,” the RV owner said with a poorly hidden smile and a little shrug. “It's the biggest thing I have.” 

David glared at the little man, then at the driver’s wheel. The keys were still in the ignition and the engine idled. David took a purposeful step towards the driver’s seat, only for the RV owner to get between them. 

“Uh uh,” he said, holding up his hands. “No one drives her but me.” 

Of course he humanized his RV. David glared and gave a slow, long suffering sigh. 

“You’re cuffed,” he said darkly. 

“Already drove her once,” the RV owner said, wiggling his fingers. “Just keep ‘em at 11 and 1. Not like it's my first time.” 

That should have been obvious. David glared him down until he finally conceded. Unarmed, in this man’s territory, in his clothes, left David without the upper hand. He sighed, shoulders slumped, and looked off to the side. The RV owner pressed his mouth into a tight line and looked up at David with pity.

“Look,” he said. “There’s more going on here, obviously, you know that. And if we’re being honest, that isn’t the first time I’ve seen that sigil.” 

David’s hands curled into fists.

“I’ll tell you all I know about it,” he said. “Willingly even. And if you like, you can share what you know. Cause it seemed like that wasn’t your first time seeing it either.” 

David finally met the little man’s eyes. 

“And if you don’t like what you’ve heard, we can go wherever you want me to go,” he said 

“Like jail?” David deadpanned. 

The RV owner grimaced and shook his head. 

“Yeah fine whatever. I’ll go to jail,” he said. Then added in a quick mutter, “Not like it’d be the first time.” 

That, also, figured. David glared at the owner and watched him fidget. He rubbed at his wrists, trying to alleviate the strain the cuffs gave and found no reprieve. Instead, he stuck out his hand. 

“I’m Micah by the way,” he said. 

David didn’t return it. He glared and this Micah only rattled his cuffs, insistent on this handshake. 

“Agent Whitetree,” David said. 

“Agent. . . ” Micah bared his teeth in a grimace. “Feds. Wow, okay. Hmmm. Well Agent, you seem like the kind of high strung asshole who likes to drink coffee at midnight. What do you say, want to go grab a cup?” 

David’s glare doubled, but his stomach took that opportunity to vocally remind David that he skipped dinner. Micah’s grin widened. 

“Come on,” Micah said. “I’ll treat you to the finest coffee and fast food a 24 hour drive thru can offer.” 

“Fine,” David conceded. 

“Great!” Micah practically skipped back to the driver’s seat. “Think you could uncuff my hands while we’re at it?” 

David slipped into the passenger’s seat, pushing aside a paper bag on the floor with his bare foot. 

“Keys are in my jacket,” he said. “At the pig farm.” 

“. . . ah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Micah :) 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micah managed to be quiet for about a mile. 
> 
> “Soooo,” he said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. 
> 
> David closed his eyes and leaned his elbow against the window. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 
> 
> “You feeling any squirmy wormies inside?” he asked with far too much pep.

Micah managed to be quiet for about a mile. 

“Soooo,” he said, drumming his fingers on the wheel. 

David closed his eyes and leaned his elbow against the window. He pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“You feeling any squirmy wormies inside?” he asked with far too much pep. 

David pinched his nose a little tighter and did not want to address a single word of that sentence. After another moment of blessed silence, Micah had to go and ruin it again. 

“Serious,” he said. “I don’t want you exploding on me.” 

“No,” David said. “I don’t feel anything.” 

“Good.” 

“Whatever you gave me seemed to work.” David’s head perked up and his hand hovered in front of his face. “. . . What was that stuff you gave me?” 

“A rub,” Micah said. He glanced back and forth from the road to David. “It uh. . . closes up your pores. Kind of a no vacancy thing. Pushes stuff thats in there out.” 

David slowly turned to look at the man. 

“. . . You’re gonna have trouble with soap for a bit,” he said quickly. “But hey, at least it smells like lavender.” 

“It doesn’t.” 

“Well I tried.” 

David leaned on his fist. The mat beneath his feet was sticky where it wasn’t ripped. He could already feel the dirt on his skin but knew it wouldn’t stick there, thanks to Micah’s ‘rub.’ He was half inclined to dismiss it, that there was nothing in this world that could do such a thing, but the evidence of no worms under his skin. And besides, it wasn’t the weirdest thing David had encountered in his life. Hell, on that day. 

“Man those pigs sure where weird huh,” Micah tried again. 

“Shut up,” David said. 

“Oh. Kay.” And Micah finally did something David said for once. 

The RV pulled up outside of a 24 hour McDonald’s and Micah parked it across three parking spaces. He leaned over to shut off the engine and climbed into the back cabin. 

“Come on,” he said. 

“I’m not wearing shoes,” David said. 

Micah stared at him incredulously. He leaned over, trying to get David’s attention, meet his eyes, but David kept fixed on the restaurant doors. Micah drummed his fingers on the back of David’s seat. 

“I think that’s the least of our problems,” he said. 

David didn’t move and solemnly pointed at the sign that read ‘No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service.’ Micah glared at him, then the sign, then groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. He marched through the cabin and snatched a ruined notebook off the cluttered table. 

“Fine!” he shouted. 

The cabin door opened on overworked, under cared for hinges, then slammed back shut again. Through the darkened parking lot, Micah marched to the fast food door. It lost its effect with his hands hunched in front of him, gripping his worm notebook, like a racoon carrying a stolen possession. He hip checked the door open and strode to the counter. 

The man talked animatedly with the attendant, swinging his cuffed hands wildly. He jangled his cuffs and pointed to his feet. And when it was all said and done, he stared directly at David with a wide closed mouth smile. The attendant, who was two seconds from a nap and not paid enough for this, looked in the same direction, but David doubted she could see him. She rolled her eyes heavy enough to roll her head and motioned for him to come inside. 

David petulantly stayed where he was. When he didn’t move, Micah swung his arms violently, like digging dirt over his shoulder. 

“No,” David said to no one and glared at the perp. 

Micah swung his arms again, this time throwing his whole body into it. 

David huffed. This was going nowhere. Driven by resignation and a small amount of curiosity, he stepped out onto the asphalt. He was careful where he stepped, watching his feet, and again thought he might not have needed to. He didn’t want to test the rub’s longevity against glass. The bell in the door chimed a dying off tune song and heralded the ridiculous vision that was David into the restaurant. 

Micah didn’t bother to hide the smile on his face. 

“What do you want, fuzz?” Micah asked. “My treat. Seeing as you don’t have a wallet.” 

“Who’s fault is that?” David said without looking at him. 

“Worms,” Micah said without skipping a beat. “I’ll have. . . buh buh buh a number 4. . . wait no 5. Extra large. Oh! And one of those McFlurries, y’all still doing that?.” 

He leaned on the counter, cradling his chin in both hands, and looked up at David with the most shit eating grin David had ever seen. David had no choice but to bask in it, huffed again, and gave the poor attendant his full attention. 

“Burger,” he said. “No cheese. Coffee, black.” 

“Fries with that?” the cashier drawled. 

“No.” 

“Wow,” Micah said, drawing the word out. “You’re fun.” 

But true to his word, he paid for the food with scrunched up dollar bills dredged from his pocket. David stood stiff as a statue, watching the whole transaction, moving nothing but his eyes. The coffee slid first into David’s grabbing distance and he took it without so much as a ‘thank you.’ He leaned against the counter, ignored Micah’s continuing shit eating grin, and waited for the tray. Micah went for it, David got it first. 

“I got it,” Micah whined. 

“What are you going to do?” David asked, fixing him with a bland look. “Carry it with your t-rex arms?” 

Micah finally stopped grinning. Blank faced he scratched at the air, restricted from moving his hands more than 5 inches apart. 

“Rawr,” he said. 

David gave him a long stare, then walked away. Behind him, Micah puffed out a little laugh. 

David aimed for a far table in the back corner behind a large plant and dropped the tray with not enough care. Micah’s McFlurry almost fell over, but he scrambled to catch it with both t-rex hands. 

“Hey, rude,” he said. 

David disregarded him, plonked down into the booth, and stared out at Micah’s abysmal parking job. The hoodie tugged too tight on his neck. The coffee was flavorless and burnt his tongue. He settled into his seat and wrapped his hands around the paper cup. 

“Okay,” he said. “Talk.” 

Micah had the burger halfway to his mouth. He huffed and set it back down. 

“How is it that in my shitty ass hoodie you still manage to look like a fed?” he asked. 

“I am a fed,” David said. “How did you know about the pig farm?” 

Micah took a large bite. 

“Ships to the plant,” he said around the food in his mouth. 

David’s frown deepened. That was simple. David had gotten there the long way, but it would only be a matter of time before the bureau stopped looking into Roland Nordiff’s personal connections and into Lucky Farms. 

Where they'd find the other bodies. 

And his clothes. 

“We need to go back to the farm,” David said. 

Micah rolled his eyes and dug into his food again. 

“Stop,” he whined. “You’ll get your clothes and car and worldly possessions back, fuzz.” 

“Someone is going to put the dots together like you did.” 

“Relax,” Micah said. “In situations like this, folks tend to think its biological or some shit, they’re not scrambling to find the cause for one dead body. Only freaks out tonight.” 

“Like you.” 

“And you.” Micah bounced his eyebrows twice. "You're out at a pig farm at midnight, you freak."

David glared at him and Micah smiled closed mouthed and full of food. At least this time Micah swallowed before he spoke. 

“How’d you know?” he asked. “To go to the farm, I mean.” 

David remained silent. He toyed with the wrapper on his burger until he could commit and open it. Micah had stopped chewing and watched as David took his first clean bite. 

It was all very awful. 

Micah managed to stay patient up until David went for a second bite. 

“Fine,” he said, dropping his food with too much force. Using both hands he grabbed the worn out notebook. “Let's compare notes.” 

Licking his finger, he paged through fragile looking paper until he came upon what he was looking for. He smoothed out the notebook and turned it back around to face David. On the open page was a crude drawing of swirls and lines and curves. The same shapes that made up the sigil David knew so well. He stared nonchalantly at the rendition and took another sip of coffee. Micah’s eyes darted from David to the book and back again. 

“Well?” he asked. “What is it?" 

He tapped the page insistently. 

"You knew what this is," Micah said. "I don't know what this is. So spill." 

David stared down at the familiar drawing, replaying that evening over and over again in his mind. He tapped his finger against the paper wrapping around his burger and stared out into the night. 

“I don’t know what it is,” he said. 

“But you recognized it, right?” Micah asked. 

David took another bite. Micah shook his head, a soft laugh under his breath, and looked out the window. 

“Okay, fine, whatever,” he said. “You don’t wanna play along, fuzz, I get it. But let me tell you something you do know. This ain’t biological and it certainly ain’t some kind of serial killer. Not in the traditional sense.” 

David met his eyes and Micah clamped the McFlurry straw between his teeth. He swallowed something solid and from the wince it looked like he swallowed it whole. 

“And I figure this ain’t your first dance with something this weird,” Micah said. “Or you’re a sociopath. You were too calm for exploding worm zombies.” 

“Keep your voice down,” David hissed. 

Micah slowly looked over his shoulder at the girl at the till. He turned back to David, brows raised and unimpressed. 

“She’s too high to care,” he said. “What I figure is this thing.” He tapped the picture again. “Is used to summon something or make something, but the weird thing about it. . . well the weirder thing about it is that the worms were drawing it. You noticed that didn’t you?” 

David sighed. He might as well play along. 

“Mmhmm,” he hummed against the coffee lid. He stared at the hastily drawn sigil that Micah drummed his fingers over. “Where did you see that?” 

“Hmm? Oh this?” Micah said. “I uh. . . different case. Got there. . . I got there after everything was done. And it didn’t pick back up.” 

Maybe it was the way he didn’t meet David’s eyes, but Micah seemed actually upset about that. David didn’t push it any further. 

“I saw it in an old woman’s home,” he said. 

Micah perked up and sat up a little straighter. 

“Where?” he asked. 

“Not far from here,” David said. “In a neighborhood just outside of the farms.” 

That little fact really perked Micah up. He was downright grinning when he polished off the last of his sloppy burger. 

“What’d the old bird do?” he asked. 

“Swallow before you speak,” David complained. “Please?” 

To his credit, Micah swallowed. 

“Did she murder someone?” Micah asked. 

“No,” David said, offended. Although he didn’t really know that, did he? More than anything, he hoped she didn’t. The sweet woman who offered him cookies would never. . . 

“What was the FBI doing in an old lady’s house then?” Micah asked. 

Once again, David fell silent. He looked back out the window. The light above the RV flickered. Micah grunted, a soft ‘fine’ under his breath, sarcastic at best. He clasped his hands together, the fingers interlocking, and rested his arms around his notebook. A smudge of ketchup sat at the corner of his mouth. 

“Bet you she was a witch,” he said. 

David gave Micah a bland look. 

“What?” Micah asked. “You just saw worms explode out of a dude and dig this crap into the ground and you what? Don’t believe in witches?” 

“No,” David said.

Despite the rumors in his neighborhood. Despite what the kids who dared David to ring her doorbell called her. 

“And the worms,” David sighed, motioning to Micah’s notebook. “They could just be. . .” 

“Biological?” 

He was sure Micah was getting sick of the disapproval as much as David was getting sick of that shit eating grin. 

“C’mon,” Micah said, getting to his feet. His notebook snapped shut. “Lets go talk to the lady.” 

“She’s dead.” 

David gently folded up his empty burger wrapper and placed it into his empty coffee cup. He gathered up Micah’s forgotten mess onto the serving tray. 

“Oh.” Micah looked at the clock on the wall. “Well I doubt the non witch folk who moved into her house will be up at this hour.” 

“And like she would be?” David asked, also standing. The floor was no less cold on his bare feet. There was a certain advantage to facing Micah while standing, the extra inches giving him some sort of advantage. And yet, the kid seemed unphased. 

“I dunno, we could’ve waited until 3,” he said. “The witching hour.” 

Micah leaned in close to say it, like it was some sort of secret. David rolled his eyes. 

“No one else has moved in,” he said. 

“And the building is still standing?” 

David dumped the trash and placed the tray in the designated ‘used’ slot. He sighed and this time when he looked out the window, he caught sight of his own reflection. His hair was a mess and he still had some of the so called lavender rub on his face. The neck of the hoodie looked just as painful as it felt. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Alright. Lets go check it out.” 

David grabbed the back of Micah’s collar before he could get very far. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” David asked. 

“To the old lady’s house?” Micah tentatively pointed his thumbs over his shoulder. “Don’t you wanna know what this is?” 

The chain of the cuffs rattled as Micah shook the notebook in the air. 

“Even if you aren’t curious,” he said. “Don’t you wanna figure out what's happening? You know. Before more people die?” 

David looked down. The floor was in desperate need of a mop and he tried very hard not to think about what he had been stepping in. It was easy to do when contemplating the human explosion of guts and gore that had just showered him. 

“And what's a little B and E in the face of impending doom, huh fuzz?”

David glared down the little man, his mouth pulling to the side. Micah rattled the cuffs again. He seemed to like the noise. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” David said, marching past him. 

“Yes,” Micah hissed. 

The bell to the McDonald’s door was a wan atonal song and too loud in the dead of night. Micah practically side skipped next to David as they walked back to the RV. David buckled in and Micah drummed his hands on the steering wheel. 

“So where we headed?” he asked. 

“We need to make a stop first,” David said. 

He wasn’t going to spend the rest of the night in Micah’s sweats.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Park around the corner,” David said. 
> 
> “Geez, how did we end up in bougie-ville.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been a minute huh? 
> 
> Thanks to a few interested individuals, I got spurred to write this bad boy again. And just. . . ugh you'll never know what that means to me. 
> 
> Thank you!

“Park around the corner,” David said. 

“Geez, how did we end up in bougie-ville.” 

Micah did as David told him to, carefully driving past the large yellow house with the white picket fence. His RV rumbled too loud and David winced with every creaking bounce over a pothole. At that hour, they were bound to wake someone up. The brakes squeaked and Micah thunked it in to park. 

“Alright,” he said. “We’re here. Wherever here is.” 

David stared down the darkened street. They were deep enough into the neighborhood that there were no street lights. The trees that lined the road cast menacing shadows and had always bothered David in that deep unsettling way that only the dark could. He stared at the yellow house and didn’t move. 

“Fuzz?” Micah asked. 

“Wait here,” David said, unbuckling his seat belt. 

“Sure?” 

David hopped out of the cab and into the cool night air, the warmth of the day a distant memory. Walking down the sidewalk was more forgiving than the McDonald’s parking lot had been. He could practically feel Micah’s eyes on him and knew that the next steps would be suspect, not that Micah would be a stranger to such things. 

David reached the fence at the end of the driveway, hopped up to grab the top, and climbed over. 

A move so familiar, it might as well be akin to breathing. Years of sneaking back in gave him practice and muscle memory. The guilt and shame of having to do it the first time long gone. The house was dark, asleep in its own right, and David knew no one would be awake inside. 

He jumped to grab the lowest branch of an old oak and pulled himself up. It had been years and a couple of pounds since he’d last done this and for a brief dizzying moment he wondered if the branch could hold his weight. When it did, he went for the next, and shimmied up the trunk to the last.

Roughly two years ago, the last branch had been trimmed back away from the house. Safety and homeowner codes dictated that having a branch of such caliber over the roof was a hazard to the property. It was a different entrance than what David had been used to. The leftover stump was enough to balance on and the space between was enough to hop/walk across. 

David’s landing on the second story roof was a little louder than he would have liked. He froze, on all fours, hands and balls of his feet flat against the shingles. He stared at the window at the far end, waiting and watching for the light to come on. It didn’t. David cast his eyes to the night sky and mouthed a silent thanks. 

There was so much he didn’t want to explain. 

The window across from the tree had always been loose and David never told anyone about it. A quiet jiggle to the left and right and steadily it went up. Pinching the mesh of the inside screen in just the right way allowed David to push it into the dark of the room. And just like that, he slipped into the house. 

For the amount that had changed, his bedroom was remarkably the same. Plastic storage bins piled high in the corner, holding christmas and halloween decorations, clothing that would never be donated, knick knacks that were too sentimental to throw away. A sewing machine and dress form took up the far wall. But his dresser and bed still remained. He was far too large for the twin, but it beat a couch. 

David immediately went rummaging through his drawers, looking for something that was a little more respectable than another man’s sweats. Something suitable for breaking and entering a dead woman’s home. He pulled out a dark grey polo and a pair of jeans. His only other pair of shoes were his trainers and they were at the front door. David resigned himself with his exit. 

He kneeled down at his closet door and pulled out a small black safe and laid his fingers into the blue lit grooves. It clicked open and David took out his spare gun, tucking it into his jeans. He went for his bedroom door and stopped. 

“Right,” he whispered with a snap of his fingers and doubled back. 

A spare set of cuffs were tucked away in a toolbox next to the gun safe and David took the key. Identical to the one that had been dropped at the farm. 

He draped Micah’s sweats over his arm and was ready to go. 

David crept down the stairs, careful to step in just the right places to keep them silent. He managed to get to the front door, get his trainers on, and get one foot out the front door, when it all fell apart. 

“David?” 

David flinched, his eyes squeezing shut. It was too much to hope that just one thing this night went smoothly. 

The stairway light flicked on, further enlightening David’s treachery. He turned to see the tiny woman descend the stairs, wrapped in a well worn robe that still managed to be a pristine shade of white. He pressed his mouth into a thin line and faced his mother. 

Vera Whitetree was all of 5 foot nothing and pure WASP. Ever since middle school, she had to look up to her son, but still managed to make him feel one inch tall. Everything about her was in just the perfect place, from her hair to her home decor all the way down to the shine on her shoes, was right out of a home and self improvement magazine. Even with a disappointed scowl, she looked ready to put Martha Stewart to shame. 

“It is the middle of the night,” she said. “What do you think you are doing?”

David looked back into the darkness of his home, towards the dining room and the kitchen hidden in the back, trying to find an answer anywhere. 

He had nothing. 

“Working?” he said. 

“David Bradley!” his mother scolded, stepping up into his personal space, hands on her hips. “Do not lie to me.” 

David stumbled back onto the porch, trying to maintain some kind of distance between himself and the bear he poked. 

“I’m. . . I’m not,” David stuttered. He never stuttered, but his mother had a unique way of pulling out the worst in him. The weakest parts. “I am on the job right now.” 

At the movement in its vicinity, the porch light flickered on and shone a spotlight on David. He glanced to the side. The faded green of the RV poked out from the street corner. 

He wondered how much Micah could see. 

Vera Whitetree glared up at her son, fists propped threateningly on her hips. 

“Were you like this before?” she asked. “Is this why it didn’t work out?” 

David sighed heavily and closed his eyes, his brow knitting hard together. He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn’t need to have this conversation in that moment. He didn’t need to have that conversation ever. Least of all with his mother. 

“I really need to go mom,” he said, the sound coming out like pure frustration. 

He knew Vera wouldn’t appreciate that. When he opened his eyes, he saw his hypothesis was correct. Vera’s glare was enough to drive holes through David’s head, enough to shrink him down and shrivel him up until she could properly squish him under her boot. It was the look that told him just how grounded he was and from the tapping of her fingernails on her hip he could count for how long. 

It was disappointment. 

“Your father never did this,” she said. A sharp shot that hit David right in the aching heart. “He would always come home. He was always there for us.” 

David looked away. A sneer pulled at the corner of his mouth. He was done looking at her. 

“Maybe if you came home at a normal time, she would–” 

“I have to go mom,” David said quickly, putting an abrupt end to that conversation. 

No matter what room he slept in, no matter who’s roof he was under, David would keep running. He could bury his head in his work as he always had and there was no Vera or Diane who could stop him. Head still bowed low, he glanced to the RV and the work that waited for him. 

Vera huffed once and shuffled to the dining room. She came back with a cardboard legal box in her arms. It read DAVID in permanent marker on the side. Vera shoved the box into David’s arms, pushing Micah’s sweats aside. It rattled with an array of books and medals and other memorabilia that hadn’t been important enough to hunt for. 

“Here,” Vera huffed. “Diane was by earlier to drop this off. She said she’s been trying to get ahold of you, but for some reason, she can’t.” 

From her tone, Vera knew exactly why. 

“I don’t want any more of this stuff in my house,” she said, putting an emphasis on how much that house was hers. “Put it in your storage locker or leave it at work, I don’t care anymore, David. Theres no more room here.” 

For him either, it seemed. 

“She mentioned the dining set,” David said. 

“That was your grandmothers,” Vera said, daring David to sell it. 

David gripped the sides of the box tighter to his chest. He kept his gaze down, staring at the contents of the box poking out from where the lid had skewed sideways. Remnants of a life he no longer had. Fragments that had fallen apart. 

David wasn’t sure he could put them back together. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Leave them scattered across the ground. 

He nodded once to his mother, not knowing what he was agreeing to, but wanting to appease her wrath. 

Vera sighed heavily again and gripped the door in her hand. David wasn’t sure if she conceded or if she was just tired. 

“Enjoy your work,” she said darkly and swung the door shut. 

David stumbled backwards to prevent getting hit in the face. The lock on the otherside thunked shut and the lights from within switched off, leaving the house darkened and asleep. David stood still on the porch, head down and staring into the box. 

Slowly, he turned and made his way back up the street. Shuffling, slumping steps took him back into the dark of the neighborhood. Behind him the porch light shut off and he was left in the dark. The cab door was still unlocked when David climbed back in. Micah was silent, which did not seem like a good omen. 

David looked sidelong at the man behind the wheel and wondered how much he saw. 

Probably everything. 

Micah looked David up and down, his face impassive. 

“Knew you were the kind of freak who tucked his polo into his jeans.” 

David laughed, just a puff of air. It could have been a sigh of relief, but he wasn’t sure how relieved he was. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the key, snagging Micah by the chain. Micah donned his usual shit eatting grin and watched David unlock his cuffs. 

Silently, he thanked Micah. 

“Thank you very much,” Micah said, perfectly snot nosed and enunciating each word. He rubbed out his wrists and flexed his fingers. 

“You're welcome,” David said and handed back the sweats. 

It might have been the modicum of manners or kindness, but Micah’s brows rose in mocking surprised. He grinned at David in the dark and threw the sweats into the back of the RV without looking where they would land. Giving David one last lingering look, he turned the engine over. 

“So _David_ ,” he said with a jerk of his head, pointing to the scrawled name on the side of the box. “Where to?” 

David put the box down in the footwell and pointed down the street. 

“Drive to the end of the road and take a left,” he said. “We’re not far now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: hell house 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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